


His Girl

by whisperbird



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:38:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1627103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperbird/pseuds/whisperbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the little weird things that build up when you're Zaphod's girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Written for odditycollector

 

 

They'd been arguing a lot lately. But that was an unnecessary statement to be sure; anyone in cohabitation with Zaphod was sure to argue a lot with him. It was a rule somewhere ... Trillian knew it. Someplace, on a big large book of Truths of Life (note, not the Guide) it was written. If it wasn't, Trillian would write it in bold. Along with a few other things.

It was just that they were of two different minds. Three different minds. Trillian was a rookie star tramp; Zaphod was the president of the galaxy. And many, many other differences.

Zaphod was a man of loads of bravado and very odd brains. It wasn't that he was exactly stupid; he was too clever for that. It was as though the path to any sort of logic or intelligence in his brain was beset with many obstacles, most set up by Zaphod himself. He asked more questions than he answered and being a space-ignorant companion, such as she was in the beginning, it caused ... friction.

Thus, a few arguments came about.

Zaphod, many times, seemed certain that what he knew about the universe was common knowledge. Trillian would concede; it probably was. But he had no idea that she was fresh from the turnip ... planet, and knew next to nothing about the working order of the universe at large. Instead of a, "hey what?" and an, "are you serious?" she'd want a real answer, even if the answer seemed absurd at the time.

That was number one.

Another topic that pushed all of Trillian's buttons (she was a patient woman, she had many buttons) was the assumption that she would do things that were utterly bizarre and not be surprised by it. As a result she adopted a "when in Rome" sort of approach. But not completely in the beginning, she didn't.

"Zaphod," she said quietly once, from behind a large ornate menu at some star-dive masquerading as a four-star restaurant, "I'm sorry to say, but every bit of this sounds disgusting."

The menu was a large one, so when she had set hers aside on the table, she saw the one Zaphod was pondering over was so large that it, in fact, covered both his heads. Zaphod had a lot of head.

"Hey, yeah?" he said, not caring much, as every bit of it sounded delicious to him, she imagined.

"Well, yes," she replied, picking her menu up once more and scanning the explicit descriptions of preparation involved with each item. "I'm not eating anything that describes the cooking process as the `gestation period.'"

And that was pretty much all of her grievances at the moment, as they divided into sub-grievances and divided from there. Everything with Zaphod was a maze, even the problems she had with Zaphod.

She knew there had to be some sort of clever man lurking in there behind the mask of stupid. Otherwise, he wouldn't have enjoyed such a successful life. But there were facades. Zaphod was like a town built entirely on facades with small amounts of building behind them.

Or perhaps, she thought, thinking this unfair, he was like a house built for no reason where all staircases led to nowhere and windows opened to walls and everything was dressed with very unnecessarily opulent moldings.

*

"Why do I need to go?"

Zaphod was pacing the length of the cabin, hands splayed, bent at the hips, moving like a blind man. He was doing a thinking type of pace, but he wasn't thinking. Trillian could tell. She had only just walked into the cabin and noticed his bare feet. He must've been looking for his shoes.

"You know," said Trillian, changing the subject but only for a moment, "if you would put your shoes in your room you'd be able to find them more ea--"

But Zaphod was already pulling a pair of hideous boots over his feet. It seemed they were better off lost.

Trillian cleared her throat.

Zaphod leaped from his seat the moment the shoes were on his feet. He crossed two of his arms. "Er."

"It's not that hard," said Trillian. "You just wear them to the room." She shook her head and began looking for her coat.

"Not that," said Zaphod. "You said something before that. Right?"

Trillian was so surprised that he noticed she dropped the jacket she was lifting from the back of a chair.

"I only ask," he said, "because it seemed to be the thing keeping us here at the moment and I want to be somewhere else already." He looked at his wrist, then looked at his other and realized his watch was on his third arm. "Somewhere else already has drinks and I feel I need one."

"You always need a drink," said Trillian, leaning over to pick up her jacket. "I'm going, I feel I don't have a choice."

"Is that what you said before?" Zaphod didn't really care, he just needed something to say as he ushered her towards the teleporter.

"I asked a question, but you already answered it," she muttered under her breath as she slapped away Zaphod's pushing hands. "Why aren't we landing?"

"Too slippery."

"Too --" Trillian paused. She started again. "Too slippery?

"Yeah," Zaphod replied. He gave Trillian another push. "The whole planet is covered in some sort of sticky substance. It used to be a swamp planet, so I guess that's how life is there now. But the swamps dried sticky and nothing can land on its surface."

Trillian spluttered, hands spread on the teleported door, trying to stop Zaphod from shoving her inside. It was a double duty splutter: once for the absurd notion that one couldn't land on the surface of a planet in such a way and twice for the fact that Zaphod was shoving her.

She addressed the first splutter. "How do people walk on it?"

"Oh, you can walk on it. You can't land anything too large on it. It has a weight limit." He stopped for a moment. "It's also strictly prohibited to fat people."

"Why is your friend there then?"

"He's pretty skinny, if I remember, you know."

"No, no why would anyone live on a planet like that?"

"Get in and you'll see," said Zaphod, with a grin and lifted her into the teleporter. "This guy is a bizarrologist. He deals in the weird."

He began to punch in coordinates to the planet with one hand, closing the door with the other and with the third trying to keep Trillian in the door. She stopped struggling and sighed.

"Why do I have to go?" she asked again, but was whisked away into the somewhere else already, where they presumably had drinks. She hoped. She felt she needed one now.

*

A few moments after she slid the door closed on her teleporter, and stepped out into what looked like a garage, she heard a similar sound her device had made and Zaphod stepped out of the teleporter next to her. On closer inspection as she looked around, Trillian realized it was a garage; pods lined ultra brick walls and people of all walks of planet were coming out of them. Zaphod wasn't out of place in more ways than one.

"Are we on the planet?" she asked quietly, but Zaphod was already greeting a man who was walking from a sliding door towards them. His hair was shocking blue and he was short and bespectacled. He didn't seem too weird, except for his choice of hair color. Trillian pursed her lips as the man did a complicated hand shake with Zaphod and then bowed to Trillian.

"Zaphod Beeblebrox!" the man boomed, his deep voice an odd contrast with his short stature. "I haven't seen you since ... president now?"

He lifted his spectacles from his nose and wiped them on his rather tacky shirt, sighing. "I have seen some odd things, Zaphod. You becoming president?" He placed them back on his face and squinted at Zaphod. "Oddest of all, my friend."

The man suddenly caught sight of Trillian. He blinked for a moment and smiled.

"Oh hey, yeah," said Zaphod. "This is Dr. Gideon Cristobal. We call him Bally."

"I wouldn't answer to anything else," laughed the man. "No, really. I wouldn't."

"And this is my girl, Trillian," said Zaphod to Bally.

"My pleasure," said Bally, bowing again. "Trillian, I am a bizarrologist. Are you ready," he started, his voice rising, "to see some weird things?"

"I never am," said Trillian with a slight smile, "but it seems to keep happening anyway."

With a laugh, the man led Zaphod, who was supposed to lead Trillian inside, but turned and followed Bally with nothing more than a slight glance to Trillian.

Sighing, Trillian followed them, feeling awkward and trying not to and failing. She mused to herself as they passed an assortment of beings. His girl. Zaphod's girl. That's what she was, wasn't she? It wasn't the sort of "my" that implied ownership, she knew that. Saying "girlfriend" seemed a bit off and that was technically what she was, she supposed. Companion was a better word. "Just starting out and working through things" friend was a very apt description, but a bit wordy. Zaphod, for once, had handled things right. His girl. Her president.

She was broken from her thoughts as she excused herself, bumping into a five-eyed woman and followed Zaphod and Bally into what appeared to be a very, very large ultra brick house.

His girl.

*

She blinked for a few moments as she stepped inside and was temporarily blinded. She didn't know from what or how until a few moments later when she realized the entire room wasn't brightly lit. In fact, it wasn't lit very much at all, but light was catching from all corners on an extraordinary amount of disco balls. A low light must've caught one and flared into her eyes.

Zaphod and Bally were unaffected, walking into the fray, laughing.

The whole place, thought Trillian, was rather tacky. All right, she thought, was incredibly tacky. No wonder Zaphod wanted to come here. It was a den decorated like some sort of lounge. Maybe it was a lounge. Maybe it was some sort of club, she didn't know. But it was glittery with dim lights and various animal prints. Some types of gaudy were universal, she figured.

Zaphod had moved along as she stood still and admired -- gawked -- at the room. She didn't follow him. She didn't see a reason to.

She was sure he didn't notice her absence, as he was now mingling with an assortment of characters; everyone seemed to know him. She swiveled in place, then spotted the bar, from where Zaphod was absent. She noticed a girl in a short waitress frock had handed him a Gargle Blaster, so that was that. She wasn't interested in being around Zaphod right now.

A bartender popped out of nowhere and asked Trillian's order, which was the lightest looking thing on the menu. Alien alcohol was still an odd concept to her. She wanted to get drunk, she didn't want to kill herself.

A second later a pink drink was placed in front of her. She threw it back like a pro. It tasted vaguely of strawberries.

She motioned for another, placing her elbow on the table and her face in her hand. She glanced around quickly and took a more timid sip of this drink. Of course she didn't know anyone here, but she didn't expect to. She had stopped feeling awkward. Everyone here was having a good time and some people appeared to not be old friends with everyone. So as long as she was left alone until Zaphod couldn't stand any longer, she was fine.

And maybe she'd just leave on her own.

That was the whole problem of being Zaphod's girl -- his companion. At least for now. She followed him around like a slightly confused dog and for what? He couldn't answer it. He couldn't answer why he had even dragged her here. He couldn't answer why he wanted her around. She looked at herself in the reflection of the glittery bar. She was all right looking, she supposed. But just being something to look at wasn't her idea of a good relationship.

And he didn't ignore her all the time. She'd learned a good deal from him, ropes-wise and he did seem to care enough to bring her places. She drained the rest of her drink. But sometimes, when she couldn't keep up, when she wasn't certain, he seemed to lose interest. Or rather he didn't understand her confusion and didn't notice it. He probably thought she was still next to him now, laughing at his stupid jokes, having the time of her life.

Perhaps it wasn't intentional.

She sighed. Her head felt a little light and she was the designated teleporter, so she decided to start taking it easy.

She shoved her glass away from her, resisting the urge to ask for another glass and sat up. If she couldn't get pissed and have fun, she was hone her skills and thing-watch. She always loved watching people at parties, the ones she did go to. She enjoyed a good party every so often but not parties like this. She'd only been to a few since coming from that certain party with Zaphod and most were pretty tame, presidential functions which bored Zaphod visibly to tears. He was in his element here, holding court in the corner.

Turning on her stool, she brushed the stranger next to her.

"Oh, excuse me," she muttered.

The man was silent, and then looked up at her, in a slightly sad manner. His eyes were large, blue and watery. He looked miserable. He looked as though he was trying to drown himself. With a half-mouth smile, he nodded to acknowledge her apology and turned back to his drink.

Trillian stiffened and looked back at the party, but her eyes kept straying back to Zaphod.

"So you're here with Beeblebrox, huh?" said a voice. She noticed it was the man next to her.

She looked at him for a moment before saying yes.

"Hmmm, quite a man."

"So I've heard," said Trillian, in no mood to hear another earful about Zaphod.

"So I've seen," said the man, sitting up hand still on his glass, though it was empty. "I've known Beeblebrox for a long time."

He coughed.

"Not in the mood to know him any further tonight, however."

"Dr. -- Bally, is this his house?" asked Trillian of the stranger.

"Yeah, holds parties all the time here," said the man. He yawned without covering his mouth or excusing himself. He seemed really not to care. "Oh, by the way, name is Mars. Random thing," he added. "I think there's a little planet called that somewhere. Looked it up once. Tiny, not the greatest thing to be named after, I guess."

"My name is Trillian."

He nodded.

"It's more of a nickname," Trillian responded.

"I ask people to call me Delmar," he said, looking down into the ice in his empty glass, perhaps noticing it was empty for the first time. "No one does."

"I asked people to call me Tricia," she said with a slight smile. "No one did."

There was an uncomfortable silence which was broken by Mars getting another drink, draining it and looking back to Trillian in a matter of seconds.

"So," he said, swirling his drink, the ice tinkling against the glass.

It was the kind of "so, I have nothing to say" kind of so. Trillian jumped in and touched an uncomfortable subject for lack of a better one.

"So how do you know Zaphod?" A second later, she realized how stupid that question was. Everyone knew him. He was only the president.

"Oh," said the man. "Worked with him for a bit on Betelgeuse. From the way people talk, think the man made gold with his touch."

Now that he had another drink, he seemed a bit more open, a bit more ... bitter. A bitter different from before. His face looked darker. He was looking at a reflection in his glass. She realized it was Zaphod. She turned. He was now laughing with the waitress and Bally seemed to be hanging on his every word. For the moment. Bally seemed that type of flighty person. But what did she know? She apparently wasn't a very good judge of character.

"Forgive me," he said, "you being his girlfriend. Me sitting here bad mouthing him."

She bit down the urge to get him another drink, to ask Mars, "no go on." She bit it, chewed it and swallowed it. Merely said to him, "I-it's fine.

"I mean," said Mars, going on now, his face getting red, "what's the man got that --" He muttered off to himself.

Trillian felt herself getting uncomfortable. The part of her that wanted the man to go on about Zaphod felt a bit ashamed now. Enticing strangers at parties to gossip about your ... your boyfriend seemed so unsavory now that she thought it out.

No response to the man and he'd turned back to his drink, or rather, his empty glass.

"I'm sorry," said Trillian, and she stood to leave. No sooner had she put her feet on the floor when she felt a very strong grip on her wrist. Turning, she realized the man had the grip and was staring up at her, furiously, intently.

"You're not happy," said the man.

"Please let go," said Trillian firmly but politely, as not to bring about any temper.

"Stay, please," said the man, and he looked less desperate.

"You're hurting me," said Trillian. She was beginning to get a bit afraid now. No one around her seemed to notice and the man was making his grip stronger, if that was possible.

"Going back to Beeblebrox," said the man, "no one goes back to me."

"I'm not --" but that was where she was going when she had stood up, wasn't it? She was going to Zaphod, she was going to tell Zaphod she was uncomfortable here. What would he have done?

"Let go!" she said louder and now he placed both hands on her wrist, his glass falling on its side.

She struggled for a second and he pulled her forward. She let out a gasp and asked to be let go again. It was not a second later that she heard Zaphod's voice.

"Hey, man, what do you think you're doing?"

Mars seemed to not hear Zaphod, as he didn't turn his head towards him, but he let go of Trillian, who Zaphod grabbed with his third arm to pull her away from him.

"Hey, I said, what are you -- what did you think you were doing?" asked Zaphod. He seemed to have a few drinks in him as well, but was steady. "That's not --"

In a split second the stranger, Mars, was on his feet and had pulled out one of his -- Trillian realized now -- very large fists and clocked Zaphod in his right head. His left glared as blood poured from his nose.

"Zark! What the hell is wrong with -- oh zark!" His left head yelled as his right was cradled in a hand, trying to stem the flow.

The party around them didn't even seem to notice the bit of conflict.

Before Zaphod could respond again, the man lifted another fist and hit Zaphod in his left head. Trillian was certain no one could've seen it coming; the man was quick as lightning. As Zaphod grabbed his left head, Mars grunted, but said nothing. With a final, slightly tipsy look, he walked quickly from the room and before anyone could pursue him, he was lost in the tussle of the party.

Zaphod was bent double, the flow of blood in his noses seeming to stop. Trillian helped him sit down at the bar.

"Did you even know him?" asked Trillian.

"Oh yeah," said Zaphod. "I think his name is Delmar or something stupid. I uh ..." he grinned, blood on his lips. "We had history involving a girl." He waved his hand. "That was like twenty years ago, I can't believe the man remembered that."

"Would you -- like a drink?" asked Trillian as she grabbed a few napkins and handed them to Zaphod, somewhat belatedly. The blood had obviously started to clot.

"You know," Zaphod said, "if they're not my friend, they probably have a vendetta against me." He seemed a bit put out now, less the confident Zaphod from before. She knew he was just as confident, but probably in pain.

"Would you like to --?"

"Leave? Yeah, I guess, I mean, this is only going to get worse if I don't get to the hospital onboard. I can fix this."

Trillian helped him stand and looked around. "Where's your friend?"

"Uh, Bally? He won't notice if we slip out --"

"Don't you want to say good-bye?" Then it occurred to Trillian Zaphod probably didn't want anyone to seem to him hunched over, bleeding lightly from both noses. Zaphod was all about appearances, she knew that and didn't press the subject, but helped him to the door.

This had been such a bizarre night and she supposed they got what they bargained for, coming to Bally's party. He had promised weird things.

She felt slightly uncomfortable as she and Zaphod stepped into a teleportation device together. Part of her wanted to forget everything that happened tonight, a strange man, a stupid party and part of her wanted to dissect the short but eventful evening.

It was, in a way, her fault Zaphod was bleeding. Not directly, but he had come to her rescue. Her rescue. That made it sound more brave than it was. Zaphod had merely distracted the man. But what if he hadn't? Where would she be then? Maybe he was thinking of taking Trillian as payment for years ago.

That was stupid, but it seemed to work. A girl for a girl. Trillian shuddered as they stepped back on to the familiar ship. Zaphod stalked off in search of bandages and she figured, a stiff drink.

Part of her wanted to blame him now. If he had not ignored her, she wouldn't have gotten into problems with that fellow. But he would turn it back to her. What were you doing over there? Why weren't you having a good time? He wouldn't understand.

They had been arguing a lot, but she didn't feel like doing it any longer. She didn't know what she wanted to do, not in the future, but right now. Did she go and ask him, did she just stand here, Zaphod's blood on her hand, her coat in the other?

They'd been arguing a lot and it was a good thing now she could see an argument coming on. She could see in advance what she would say, what he would say. Good, but it made everything seem futile. She had mapped out their relationship in thirty seconds. What else was there left?

What else was left was to go see about Zaphod, she figured. Go check on his face, see if he wanted a drink.

She had followed him back here after all and in his eyes, all four of them, it was her fault he was hurt. She wasn't having a good time, she caught a bad time. She hoped he wasn't upset, that would just be annoying and she would get annoyed and perhaps they would argue. That was just the thing about being Zaphod's girl. You took all of this when you stepped on the ship with him. You took the questions, the answers, the build-ups (on his part) and the let-downs (on hers). She supposed. That's what she was doing.

At least for now.

Without even thinking, she heard herself say, "Zaphod?" and walking into the hallway, followed him once more.

 


End file.
